


you can see it with the lights out

by whisperedwords



Series: YingYang!verse [10]
Category: National Football League RPF
Genre: 2018-2019 Season, 5+1 Things, Emotions, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Sneaking Around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-06 19:45:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15892854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperedwords/pseuds/whisperedwords
Summary: Around the QuestDX Training Facility, there are three pieces of common knowledge thateveryone, top to bottom, knows.The first? Eli Manning is the first person through the front doors in the morning, and the last one out at night.The second? There will always be laughter whenever Odell Beckham Jr is in the building.The third? They're sleeping together.[5 times that Eli and Odell almost get caught together, and 1 time they don't.]





	you can see it with the lights out

**Author's Note:**

> god, i'm really just clogging ao3 with these two, huh. (i haven't written 5+1 fic in FOREVER, and i feel like these two kind of need it still after the season they just went through.)
> 
> also, this fic is to atone for making y'all read 30,000 words about these two not being together until the very end. i owe you that much—but more importantly, i owe /me/ that much too. thus: this is self indulgent fluff about not only these two as a pair, but also their loving teammates around them whomst deserve better than to know that their qb/wr1 are in an active, grossly sweet physical relationship.
> 
> (title from taylor swift's "[you are in love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nlvwa4iDcaw)")

Around the QuestDX Training Facility, there are three pieces of common knowledge that _everyone_ , top to bottom, knows. The first—more often than not, Eli Manning is the first person through the front doors in the morning and the last one out at night. He’s been dedicated to the New York Giants for his entire career, and in year fifteen, nothing has changed; he’s still unbelievably passionate and ready to push himself, and he’ll take every opportunity to do so. The second thing that everyone knows—there will always be laughter whenever Odell Beckham Jr is in the building. He will put in an unbelievable amount of effort into his practice performance, he’ll urge on his teammates even when competing with them, and even have a small handful of emotionally intense moments any given month, but he will always, _always_ bring the laughter with him when he shows up for work. The _third_ thing that everybody knows—Eli and Odell are sleeping together.

Of course, it’s become a sort of running joke with the current staff and players within the organization—a handful of players put together a pamphlet for rookies first joining the team the year prior that summarized the existence of their relationship and passed it out in waves, and the number of incidents that various staff members have recounted about walking into a seemingly-empty room only to find it’d been _occupied_ is higher than the team and its players would like to admit. But even then, knowledge of the relationship status between one of the most dynamic quarterback/wide receiver duos hasn’t been as much of a problem as one might assume. The team has been fully accepting, and John Mara himself had even given them his blessing near the end of the 2016-17 season. As far as controversy goes, nothing about their relationship has drawn a problematic gaze.

Eli and Odell know that they’re not exactly model citizens when it comes to a player’s physical conduct, though, as the number of embarrassing stories that could be told about them gradually rises every season can attest to. This, among a handful of other things, is why in the coming weeks before their 5th year together as professional teammates, they agree that, with the new regime and more expectations on their shoulders than ever before, they’re going to hold themselves more accountable in the handling of their almost-three-year relationship.

(Or, you know, something like that.)

 

i.

“Hey, O!” Eli shouts from further down the field, waving his arms as if he’ll catch his wide receiver’s attention faster. “C’mere!” Odell, to his credit, is pretty good at catching on to when his quarterback is calling for him. Turning his head away from young Saquon’s mini-rant, he gives the rookie a clap on the shoulder and begins to jog towards Eli, who’s now waving _both_ his arms just to be a goof. Had this been an open practice, there’s no doubt that fans would’ve been wildly entertained at the sight—but, seeing as it’s their last practice weekday before Jacksonville rolls into town, coach Shurmur had closed things off and allowed the team to work more in-depth on the stuff they’ve been trying to keep under wraps. Odell is _twice_ as thankful there aren’t any fans around, because as soon as he reaches Eli, he leaps into his QB’s embrace, which tightens almost immediately around him as he steadies himself from the impact.

“Whassup, Easy?” Odell asks when their hug splits. His helmet, which had been perched high on his head before their connection, is now rolling on the grass, and Eli eyes it with a raised brow.

“I was thinkin’.” He pauses and rests his hands on his hips, looking out at the now-empty field. “You wanna run a couple more routes before we call it quits for the week?” It’s more of a reminder that they still have a little more work to do than anything else, since they’ve been at this ever since OTAs had been in session, but Odell pauses anyway and pretends to consider the options.

“Y’know…” He mimics Eli’s stance and allows some contemplative silence to fall between them. “Yeah. I mean, I guess. If you feel like you need some work.” Odell winks, and Eli rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

“Hey, we don’t have to if you _really_ think you’ve got what it takes…” Both of them know that Eli’s just pushing his receiver’s buttons at this point, to get him to smile more than anything else, and it works—Odell breaks into a disbelieving grin and tilts his head, a shocked huff escaping him.

“Oh, so _that’s_ how we’re gonna play it, huh? Yeah, old man, sure, let’s get some work in.”

“No, no,” Eli replies, lifting both hands in mock defeat. “You sure seem like you’re ready for Sunday, so I guess there’s no point in practicin’.” He begins to walk away, pointedly stepping around Odell’s statuesque form. “I’ll, uh, see you before the game Sunday, then. Good luck.”

“Don’t you walk away from me!” Eli’s walking faster than he normally does, which forces Odell to raise his voice so it’ll reach the receding figure of his quarterback. “Hey! This was _your_ idea!”

“Can’t hear you!” Eli yells. Odell snorts and almost chokes on his own laughter before reaching down, snaring his helmet with one hand, and then jogging to catch up with the idiot boyfriend he loves so much.

In typical fashion of their relationship, Odell flings himself onto Eli’s back, and Eli yelps, stumbling at the (again) unexpected weight throwing itself on him. Helmet discarded, now, Odell wrangles his arms around Eli’s shoulders until the two of them stop at the fifty yard line of their furthest field. With a disgruntled noise, Odell disentangles himself from Eli and then gracefully steps in front of him. “Can you hear me now?” He teases, and Eli grins, the smile lighting up his whole face.

“Loud and clear,” he answers, voice soft. Their chemistry has been particularly noticeable in today’s practice, helmet bumps and shoulder pad slaps galore, but that energy between them has melted into its truest form, that soft and flirtatious back-and-forth more suited for an intimate conversation at the dinner table than one on the football field.

Odell leans in, so that they’re now chest-to-chest. “Did you really wanna practice? Because you know I’m always game, baby.”

“Nah.” Eli shakes his head, a little bit pink in the cheeks. “Honestly, y’know, just wanted to spend a little more time with you out here.” His voice is thick with sincerity, and Odell’s chest tightens just because _god_ , how can he be 37 and still this youthfully innocent? “We can practice if y’want, I just…” Shifting on his feet, Eli’s hands find Odell’s waist and settle in comfortably. He shakes his head and then clears his throat. “You, uh, doin’ anything right now?”

Odell beams at him, unable to keep the giddiness from his voice. “Well, I’m sure as hell not practicing!” He loops his arms around Eli’s shoulders so that they’re positioned to waltz, and then surges up to firmly press his lips against his quarterback’s. Throaty laughter vibrates between the two of them for a moment, and one of Eli’s hands flexes on Odell’s hip as if preparing to tighten, but number thirteen isn’t quite done teasing. As quickly as he’d kissed Eli, Odell slips just out of Eli’s grasp and then jogs away, towards the fan bleachers set up for earlier in the offseason. Eli, who’s now _red_ in the face from both sun and his flirt of a boyfriend, lets his arms hang at his sides as he cocks his head, visibly in shock.

“Are you—are you kiddi—come _back_ here!” Odell is waving his arms around like Eli’d been doing right as practice ended, and Eli runs after him at full-speed, half-amused and half confused. It feels like a game of tag that his daughters would be playing right now—as soon as he rounds the corner of the tent-covered benches, Odell has already run to the other end. The grin on his face is so big it’s _shit-eating_ , Eli notices, and the desire to kiss it off is so powerful in his own mind that he can feel it prickling in his fingertips. Fortunately, Odell’s just as tired as he is from the heat, and is leaning up against one of the metal foundational poles when Eli jogs back into his personal space.

“I can still juke you like I used to,” O warns with a teasing smile, and Eli shakes his head before recapturing their kiss from before. This time, the wide receiver melts into it; his back fully hits the somehow-cool metal behind him and shifts his shoulder pads so that they’re slightly pushed upwards, but this realization doesn’t actually cross Odell’s mind. Eli is strong and persistent, two of O’s favorite things about him, and when they finally part to breathe for a few moments, Eli’s mischievous behavior seems to have taken a darker, more lustful turn.

“ _God_ I missed you.” (He’s not sure if he can express it enough after the past season they’d been through together, and he says it every single time they’re intimate like this—though to be fair, as he’s softening in his old age, Eli finds himself missing his WR1 at least a _little_ even when they’re in different rooms of the same building.) Odell grunts as their weight shifts him back further into the metal. “Mmm, baby, really did. Missed you so _much_ —” he pulls back a little further so he can properly attempt to kiss at whatever bare patches of collarbone he can reach.

“E—” Odell’s voice cracks a little as he moans. Leaning his head back for more exposure, a thrill of exhilaration crackles through his veins as a faint breeze coasts by them. They’d promised to be good and not too public a few weeks back and had fulfilled that promise fairly well so far, but Eli’s teeth nip a little at his skin and _god_ he’s ready to throw that away without second thought. How Eli has this control over him and can flip the switch from playful to dangerous in no time at all is beyond Odell, though he’d be hard-pressed to question it.

“ _Honey_ …” Voice muffled, Eli takes a deep breath as if to prepare for what he’s about to do. He lifts his head and is about to press a searing kiss to Odell’s almost noticeably-reddened lips when he sees it. Approaching in the distance, a tall figure decked out in Giants blue. “Fuck.”

“ _Yeah_?” Odell asks, breathless as he pushes into Eli to encourage him.

“No, O— _shit_ , I think—” He leans backwards, and Odell audibly _whines_ at the departure. “O, baby, there’s someone coming.”

“Hm?” He’s dazed-looking still, slowly blinking the lust from his eyes.

“Odell, you gotta—” Olivier’s form starts to come into focus through the radiating heat, and Eli remembers the promise the two of them had made to get into less frisky situations around the rest of the team. He reaches out and claps both of his hands on Odell’s shoulder pads, straightening them out with one almost-gentle slap and then brushing the jersey down on the sides. “C’mon, it’s—I think it’s OV.”

“OV?” The name has Odell straightening out as he remembers hearing from one of the other defensive lineman that Olivier’s generally-romantic tendencies make him more likely to notice any under-the-radar flirtations that O might have with his quarterback. “Shit. E, I thought—didn’t practice end like fifteen minutes ago?”

“’s fine, O, just—we just gotta act casual.” Eli coughs after he says this, which only has Odell _more_ worried because Eli is a _terrible_ liar like this. He turns around so that he’s now facing the approaching DE, who waves at them in greeting. Eli and Odell wave back.

“Whassup, y’all,” Olivier calls once he’s close enough. For a moment, the quarterback and wide receiver panic at OV’s brief look between them. They’d been so _close_ to not getting caught—“Y’all seen my water bottle?” He finally reaches the two of them and runs a hand over his close-cropped hair. The anxiety building between the pair dissipates as soon as the question leaves Vernon’s lips, and Odell releases the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. “I swear I grabbed it before I left the field, but it ain’t lying around the locker room…”

“Nope,” Eli answers, surprisingly smooth considering the panic he’d been in not even five minutes before. “O and I can help you scout the field, but ‘m pretty sure we’d’ve seen it runnin’ routes out here.” Odell stiffens a little beside him, though he does his best to make it subtle.

“Yeah,” Odell continues, though he doesn’t say anything else. Absentmindedly, he runs the back of his hand over his lips, like he’s trying to cover the persistent attention they’d been given beforehand. Olivier just shakes his head in response.

“Nah, it’s all good,” he answers, giving them a tired smile. “I’ll go see if BJ took it. Pretty sure he’s been trying to keep me on my toes by takin’ my stuff, you know?” He chuckles to himself, and Eli and Odell laugh once, trying their hardest to be casual. “Thanks, though.” With a rather graceful turn for a man of his stature, OV swings back towards Quest and begins to head back inside.

“No problem,” Eli answers, and Odell barely has time to bury his face in Eli’s shoulder pad before he lets out a giggle. Though he gets a shush in response, O can feel the relief radiating off of his boyfriend in waves. “Good luck!”

“You too,” OV calls over his shoulder, not turning back to face them.

As soon as he’s a safe distance away, Eli turns so that Odell falls face-first into his chest. “Holy _shit_ that was close.” He gently curls his fingers in Odell’s hair. Odell hums contentedly at the contact. “We gotta be more careful out here, huh, sweetheart.”

“We really do,” Odell answers, though his words are muffled by Eli’s chest. He pauses and then pushes slightly away from him. “Hey, you wanna take this somewhere more private?”

Eli makes a soft contemplative noise, almost like he’s making fun of Odell from before. “Y’know…” Odell scoffs at him a little. “Actually, O, now that I think about it, we probably _should_ run a couple routes before the day ends.” Odell looks at him, horrified. “Hey, we only got a couple days til gameday. Besides.” He lets his hand fall to his side and then starts walking back in the direction of the practice field they’d fled from what only feels like moments before. “Maybe we’ll find OV’s water bottle after all.”

 

ii.

To the shock and delight of an entire stadium of Giants fans, New York manages to hold out and win against Jacksonville. The game itself was high-intensity, as had been expected from the moment Jalen Ramsey opened his mouth the month before—but with the new high-powered offense that coach Shurmur had molded into shape, as well as the enormous chip on the team’s shoulder still left over from last season, Eli Manning and his arsenal of weapons managed to drop 28 points on Jacksonville, sending Blake Bortles and his so-called elite defense back to Florida with an L.

Eli’d had his best game in a _while_ —four touchdowns for 376 yards, not to mention the fact that the offense hadn’t turned the ball over the entire afternoon—and in the post-game speech that coach Shurmur gives them where he thanks them for playing their hardest and most passionate game, he also gives the so-called “game ball” to Eli for the bounce-back performance he’d put on. Everyone cheers, Eli is all smiles as he breaks the huddle down for the first official time all year, and everyone heads back to their respective lockers to change and go meet the press.

Well, _almost_ everyone. Odell is beaming as he talks with Cody and Saquon, unable to stop from the moment the clock had hit 0:00 out on the field, and he’s been dancing since everyone stepped foot into the locker room. It’d been a dance of joy—he hasn’t actually won a regular season game as a Giant in over a year, and he’d missed the feeling more than he even realized. So it’s no surprise that, as he relishes in the feeling of victory, the song blasting over the locker room speakers seems to be moving through him. The rhythm loosens his hips effortlessly; in no time, he’s stepping side-to-side and grinning as he rolls his hips in time to the crooning lyrics filling his ears. A few seats down, Shep looks up from facetiming his wife and daughter to hoot in O’s direction.

“Aye, boy, I ain’t got no singles for ya!” He shouts, loud and carelessly full of utter delight. Odell clicks his tongue and shakes his head, sways his hips as he dances in the opposite direction.

“Then you ain’t gettin’ the show!” Shep laughs at the response, bright as ever, and then turns his attention back to his family—Odell, however, continues to dance and walk, now sauntering in the direction of the game’s MVP. Eli looks up from his seat only for Odell to wink at him, rolling his hips _extra_ dramatically, and even coated in sweat the receiver can see the way his quarterback’s face lights up in both joy and embarrassment.

Of course, even in the crowded locker room, all eyes manage to be on them, because the next step Odell takes towards his quarterback, Evan has given the rest of the team an idea, already—“Oh _shit_ boys!” He shouts, shimmying to halfheartedly mimic Odell’s moves. “Looks like old man Eli’s boutta cash that paycheck in early today!” His words are met with a collective _ooh_ as the tight end pretends to throw dollars in Eli and Odell’s direction, eyes glittering with mischief. Odell’s face heats up at the sudden influx of eyes on them—but when has he ever really been one to shy away from the spotlight? At the team’s response, he raises his arms and gyrates slowly, half-time compared to the beat of the song playing at the moment, eliciting another loud group reaction.

“Get it, Manning!” Someone shouts on the other end of the locker room, and Odell just winks at his quarterback, now standing directly in front of him. Their eyes meet and it’s easy to see that he’s a little flustered at this concept, whatever it is, unfolding in front of him; Odell is so full of unbridled energy that he _knows_ he’s about to give the lap dance of his life, can feel the desire _coursing_ through him despite the fact that he’s never given one before. Eli, sensing this shift in determination just from their half-second of eye contact, settles down more firmly in his stool, grinning up at him.

Odell bends over and touches his toes in a quick stretch, which sends his gutter-minded teammates into a frenzy, and then lunges his right leg forward so that his foot is firmly planted on the bottom shelf of Eli’s locker. The quarterback’s eyes widen, lust quickly darkening his pupils and setting Odell’s nerves on fire. The noise in the locker room gets _louder_ , if possible, hollering and whistling bombarding their ears—even the lower-pick rookies are whacking each other as they look on, fully enthralled at the way Odell’s hips haven’t stopped swaying in time with the slow, hypnotic beat of the music. He’s now leaned fully over Eli’s sitting form, his left arm reaching upwards so that he’s got a better grip on the upper shelf of Eli’s locker. Their faces are only a few inches apart—Odell grinds his hips forward again, makes a soft little noise under his breath as he rocks forward in time with the music.

“Yo, Odell! Back it up on ‘em!” It’s Donte this time, and Odell is _sure_ he’s got his phone going to record this. (To be fair, half the room probably does—everyone knows better than to post it to public social media feeds, but it’s clear that this dance is gonna be seen by all of his friends around the league. It makes his face feel hot, but he’ll live—fun is fun, and winning is still winning. If he can make Jalen mad after his out-of-place comments about Eli, it’ll be worth it.) Though his head is spinning from the flurry of emotions bouncing back and forth within the locker room, he’ll be _damned_ if he doesn’t take that suggestion into account—he steps away from Eli’s board-stiff form and turns around, dropping into a crouch in time with the song and pushing his ass out so that it brushes against Eli’s knees when he rises again. The contact feels like a live wire has tapped into his system, and it takes all the self-control he has to not grind back up against him. Victory is _erotic_ , it’s turning him on more than he thought it ever could, and when he backs up so that he’s straddling Eli’s legs in reverse, he can feel just from the way Eli is trembling beneath him that his quarterback feels it too.

“Mmmm,” he hums as whoever’s in charge of the playlist continues to choose slow, baby-making songs. One hand finds itself in his hair as he pushes it back, and the other plays at the hem of his undershirt, lifting it from the side so that Eli gets a lingering view of his lower back and the tattoos peeking out from beneath the material. If he’s being honest, part of him—a _big_ part of him—wants nothing more than for Eli to grab him by the waist and pull him down, back-to-chest, pressed so close together that their sweat mingles and sticks them together, forces friction between them to play up with the low and slow music their teammates are piping through the sound system. And, because they’re so in-sync, Eli follows this desire—one hand, warm and calloused, a little sweaty, presses up against his side, bare skin to bare skin, and Odell almost loses the rhythm he’s got going as he gyrates and twists just above his quarterback. The contact is firm in a way that drives O up the _wall_ , and _god_ he wishes the room were just the two of them because it would be so easy to get off to this, to rub up against Eli’s erection through his uniform pants and come so hard he sees stars.

“NO QUARTERBACK SNEAKS,” Damon hollers from somewhere close behind them.

“That’s _not_ in the playbook,” Davis teases. Odell _knows_ that Eli is bright red beneath him. The hand on his waist falls away, and because the sudden lack of contact has Odell feeling a little dizzy with need, he decides to tease a little further and lower himself so that he grinds briefly against Eli’s thighs. Even through the noise he can feel the shuddering groan that vibrates through Eli. _God_ it would be easy to just drop into his lap like it’s nothing, to lean his head back against his quarterback’s firm shoulder and melt into his embrace, to allow Eli to grab him by the waist and touch him, peel away the layers—

All of a sudden, the music cuts out, and in the unexpected silence of their post-game fiasco, the rattling of the door handle fills everyone’s ears. A chorus of soft cursing washes through the room and Odell leaps away from Eli so fast that he thinks it may have caused whiplash for anyone watching them. Because of this, he stumbles when he lands, only barely managing to steady himself on Kyle’s nearby stool before the door to the locker room swings open and coach Shurmur walks in, taking his hat off and running a hand through his hair.

“Y’all are awful quiet after a big win like this,” he says, a grin stretched wide across his face. “Celebrate a little! You’ve definitely earned it.” He’s made his way into the middle of the locker room, which had only moments ago been jostling with players yelling obscenities at their WR grinding up on their starting QB. Shurmur points at Eli, whose face heats up visibly from what Odell can tell perched against his locker. “’specially you, Eli. You’re playin’ with real _fire_ and I love to see that shit! Get excited!” He takes his hat off and waves it around. “All of you are. Bring this same energy to next week’s game against Dallas and we’ll kick some _serious_ ass.”

“Thanks, coach,” Eli says, voice a little hoarse. He gives Pat a thumbs-up and nods, still visibly shaken from Odell’s dancing. The rest of the team choruses in with similar sentiments, and somehow, despite the fact that they all sound equally as distant as their quarterback, their coach buys it—he gives a couple guys closest to him high fives and then reminds them to shower and eat a good meal tonight, especially since they’d played so well, before ducking unceremoniously out.

“Holy shit,” Odell says after a long beat of silence. His voice brings another low buzz of conversation back into the room. “That—oh my _god_ , that was close. That could’ve been _bad_.”

“I mean,” Shep interjects, “’s not like he doesn’t _know_ y’all two are fucking.” The receiver shrugs, and Odell just rolls his eyes.

A few seats over, the New York Giants quarterback who’d only moments ago seen his life flash before his eyes finally remembers how to speak normally. “Hey, uh, let’s _not_ do that again,” Eli says loudly, aimed at his boyfriend but also for the other 51 guys who’d been egging them on to hear. “Don’t think I wanna have to explain that one to Gettleman upstairs.” He shakes his head, still flushed red in embarrassment. Laughter erupts around the room, and Odell walks back over to where Eli is still sitting, an almost-apologetic smile on his face. Eli blinks up at him and then softens, patting his thigh so that Odell can sit down on it for a brief moment. “ _You_ were pretty good, though.” His voice is quiet, now, so that only Odell can hear him—the rest of the room has started to undress and head towards the showers and have completely forgotten about almost getting busted.

“You think?” O can’t help the teasing lilt in his voice as he cocks his head questioningly. “You got prior experience to compare that to, or—?”

“Shut up,” Eli mumbles, one hand running up Odell’s back and rubbing large, languid-paced circles just below his shoulder blades. A soft sigh of pleasure slips from the receiver.

“No touching next time,” Odell hums after a few moments, pressing a kiss to Eli’s cheek before getting up and heading back to the locker. Unhooking the towel hanging from his cubby, he turns back dramatically and winks once more at Eli. “And _no_ funny business.”

Eli raises his hands in innocence. “Me? Funny business? I would _never_.”

 

iii.

Flying out to Carolina is a quiet reminder for the New York Giants of just _how_ grueling their schedule this season is. Every other week there’s time-zone travel by plane, and jet lag has practically become part of the team’s backbone. Eli is so exhausted when they touch down in North Carolina from just the plane that he barely has the energy to push himself onto his feet and head down to the bus waiting for them. Odell, who’d slept fitfully next to him on the plane, seems to be struggling with the same thing, as much as the rest of the team is. The bus ride from the airport is long and hot, even _with_ the fans blowing from the front, and when they arrive at the team hotel, coach Shurmur gives them the night off to rest up and recollect themselves from travel. The cluster of players standing around him half-dead in the lobby thank him in one monotone, exhausted voice, and as they file slowly towards the elevator doors, Odell doesn’t think twice about hugging his coach in thanks.

“See you tomorrow mornin’,” Shurmur says with a tired smile. The receiver hums something affirmative in his coach’s ear and then lets him go, grinning sheepishly. Shurmur claps Odell on the shoulder and then heads back in the opposite direction—probably to meet with the other coaches that had headed down in a separate bus, though O doesn’t think he has the brain power to process it.

“Y’good?” Eli asks as he saunters back to where his boyfriend is standing with their luggage. He cocks his head questioningly, and all Odell can do is laugh tiredly as he collapses into Eli’s embrace. The quarterback presses a gentle kiss to the top of Odell’s head and chuckles as the blond curls tickle his face.

“’m good,” he answers, sagging a little heavier in Eli’s arms for dramatic purposes. “I’m so _tired_ , E. Can we head up to our room?”

“What, you want me to carry you?” The mock-disbelief in his voice is drowned out by fondness, Eli realizes, and Odell just giggles, lolling his head backwards to pout more noticeably.

“Don’t you want me well rested for the game?” The wide receiver bats his eyes, clearly stifling laughter as his quarterback beams down at him. They remain standing there for a few extended moments, making silly faces at each other in the now-cleared-out lobby before Eli finally answers him.

“C’mon,” he murmurs. Odell nods and grabs his over-the-shoulder bag. “’m thinkin’ room service and then bed?”

“Ooh, room service and then _bed_?” O can’t help but tease his quarterback as they wait for an elevator to take them up. He sways into Eli and makes a dramatic sigh of pleasure. Eli rolls his eyes. “Wow, you’re really goin’ to town, spoiling me like this…”

“Shut _up_ ,” E grumbles, but he hasn’t stopped beaming. Odell giggles. “You’re the one with the shiny new contract, honey, you should be spoilin’ _me_.” The doors in front of them slide open and they walk in. “’sides. I’m old. Gotta go to bed early if I wanna make that continental breakfast spread, yeah?” The doors slide shut again, Odell’s laughter flooding the elevator shaft.

 

As it turns out, going to bed early has its perks aside from making the continental breakfast buffet. Eli and Odell roll out of bed before 7, take a shower (together, but mostly to get clean rather than to get frisky), and then eat quietly in the lobby without too many interruptions—a couple with their ten-year-old son ask for a few autographs, and they shake hands with some of the dining staff, but nothing beyond that. Eli gets to hold Odell’s hand for a little while as they drink their coffee and tea, respectively, so their morning gets a quiet start to it.

Coach Shurmur had scheduled their game plan meeting for Sunday for today, too. He’d sent an email late the day before, after everyone had gotten fully settled into their rooms, that they’d meet up around 10am; he’d forced everyone to reply to said email so there would be 100% on-time attendance, much to the dismay of every player who knew how to not hit ‘reply all’. And so, at 9:27am, Eli Manning and Odell Beckham Jr arrive at the conference room door marked _RESERVED: NEW YORK GIANTS_ in thick black font. Eli opens the door and holds it open, making a dramatic sweeping motion.

“After you,” he says teasingly. Odell, however, just nods and smiles at him quietly before shuffling in. Eli assumes that he’s just tired—his track record for having a good night’s sleep isn’t that great, even after particularly-brutal sessions in bed. (It’s been happening less often, now that they’re off the chaotic roller coaster of their previous regime, but there are some mornings where Eli wakes up to an empty bed and notices that Odell has wandered into another room. He won’t say anything, of course, just kiss him good morning, but Eli knows better. He always does.) So, as any good boyfriend would do, he plops into the chair next to the one Odell is sitting in and leans over to press his face into his wide receiver’s shoulder.

“Mmmm?” Odell hums. He leans his head against Eli’s and exhales softly but doesn’t say anything else. For someone who’d amped himself up for games every single week for the past _month_ , this lingering silence has Eli on his toes. Wordlessly, he scoots his chair closer to Odell at the empty table and plants his lips firmly just below the sleeve of Odell’s gray workout shirt.

“Trouble sleeping?” Eli asks quietly, lips right at Odell’s ear. The wide receiver doesn’t answer. “’cause you know you should talk to coach about that. Even if it’s just gettin’ you an hour of break or somethin’—”

“I’m okay, Eli,” Odell interrupts. He rests his hand over Eli’s and squeezes it gently. A moment of lingering silence washes between them, and then Odell speaks again. “I just…can’t stop thinking about the last time we were here.” _Here_ , of course, in the way of ‘playing against Carolina’; last time, they’d been in MetLife, but Odell had gotten so rattled that Eli had needed to anchor him in the only way he knew how. “’s silly, but I remember it like it was yesterday…” Odell lifts his head from its resting position and pushes himself away from the table, getting up from his seat and wandering towards the wall.

Eli follows him. “Hey. That isn’t silly at all.” He moves towards Odell, who’s got his back flat to the conference room wall with his head leaned up towards the ceiling. Gently, the quarterback twines their fingers together. He can hear the way Odell’s breath sharpens as he inhales and pauses, for a moment, to think about what to say. “I know it was hard, baby.” Another pause. “But hey—that was _three_ years ago. You’ve grown so much. You’re a different player, a different _man_ , and look.” He lifts their tangled fingers to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the back of Odell’s palm. “You’ve got me now, so it can’t be all bad, right?”

Odell laughs weakly and readjusts his gaze. “I had you before, though,” he murmurs. Eli can see the beginnings of a smile curling on his lips, though, and so he presses forward so that his nose is barely an inch from Odell’s.

“Yeah, maybe,” he allows, “but I couldn’t do _this_.” Closing the distance between their mouths feels so natural that Eli can’t imagine ever being without Odell like this. Three years ago, after Carolina, Odell had begged him to just fuck him in the shower once, just to let off steam, just to scrub the remnants of a lingering crush away—this morning, at 9:36am three years later, things have shifted so much that it makes the quarterback’s head spin. Kissing Odell now is so easy and carefree that he could spend an eternity doing it.

When they part for air, Odell’s expression has softened, from distant to somewhere closer. Somewhere that Eli knows he can reach. “I love you,” Odell breathes. Eli grins wide, letting his toothy smile brush up against the frazzled ends of Odell’s beard. “I do. I really, really do.”

“Well, that’s good,” Eli mumbles, now leaning back in to press a chaste kiss to the apple of Odell’s cheek, “’cause I love you too.” Cradling O’s head between both hands, he presses another soft kiss just above his boyfriend’s beard line. Then he moves, trailing kisses over the bridge of his nose and up into the smooth expanse of his forehead only partially littered by tangled blond locks. It takes several light blows for Eli to get it out of the way, but Odell is giggling as he does it, so it’s worth the minor inconvenience. By the time he dips down to O’s partially-exposed collarbone, it’s easy to tell that Odell’s face is warm with affection. He runs a hand through Eli’s hair as he leans to the side, angling himself better so that Eli can linger on more skin. He hums at the contact, and E revels in the way he can feel it vibrate up against him. His teeth drag a little on the patch of skin uncovered by facial hair, and Odell full-body shivers, urging Eli to push in further so that they’re chest-to-chest.

“’s that what you want?” The quarterback asks, voice a little husky as he presses his face into the side of Odell’s neck. The receiver exhales slowly. “’m not gonna lie, O, this makes me want to run back up to our room…” Eli’s teeth scrape against Odell’s skin again and Odell whimpers. “Y’know…forgot my playbook…you got the key…” The plan sounds muffled in the crook of Odell’s neck but neither of them are really paying attention to it. The only thing they’re paying attention to, really, is each other.

That is, until Odell stops leaning into Eli’s affections and hears something. “E—” his voice is a little hoarse, so he clears his throat. “E, hang on.”

“What’s up, baby?” Eli’s hand, resting lightly against Odell’s clavicle, shifts so that it’s fully on his shoulder now. But Odell doesn’t need to answer—there’s laughter very clearly echoing in the hallway, and the quarterback leaps backwards in a flash of panic moments before Snacks rolls into the room, Dalvin and BJ in tow. Eli steadies himself on the chair he’d been occupying before and nods at them in acknowledgement.

“’sup, Eli?” Damon asks. He turns and notices Odell. “You here too, O? Damn. Gettin’ extra reps before we even got the game plan. Y’all crazy.” Coffee in hand, he sits down near the other end of the table—probably where the rest of the defense is going to circle up once coach Bettcher arrives. Eli releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding; from the looks of things, Damon hadn’t picked up on the fact that they had, moments before, been lip-locked against the wall Odell is still leaning up against. The nose tackle’s focus is currently switching between the Dunkin Donuts coffee in one hand and his phone in the other—he laughs and shows it to BJ.

Dalvin, however, notices that something’s not quite right. He raises an eyebrow at Eli. “Y’all were going through plays, huh?” His voice is steady and neutral, but Eli can see, in horror, that the dots are connecting behind his eyes. “’s cool that coach sent you the plays beforehand.”

“Yeah, I uh, I asked for ‘em to go over last night—” a bold-faced lie, as he’d gone to bed at 8 after he and Odell had eaten their room service, but not _completely_ unheard of. “—wanted to, y’know, uh, work through some of the finer details with Odell here.” He waves his hand towards his wide receiver, who’s managed to play it cool this entire time. “Game prep and all that.”

Dalvin’s expression doesn’t change, but he nods a couple times. “Yeah,” he replies.

The rest of the team filters in a few minutes later, and Odell makes sure to take his seat next to Eli before things settle down too much.

Under the table, Eli reaches over and laces their fingers together with a gentle squeeze. The quarterback watches as O’s lips curve ever-so-slightly into a little smirk. _Next time_.

 

iv.

Week ten has all but flown by. Coach Shurmur gives the team Sunday to rest, but encourages them to participate in minimal pre-game training so that they can at least start to regain the stamina they’d had before the bye. And because a good portion of the current roster is young and interactive with the rest of the league, a handful of players get together with some of their San Fran opponents and decide to run a practice-game.

Well, less of a practice game and more of a 7-on-7 game of flag football. It’s beneficial for route running, though most of the players on either side are fairly well-versed at this point in the season, but mostly it’s a good way to let off steam. Odell picks off Jimmy G and manages to juke and dodge the rest of the participating 9ers for a touchdown, and in celebration he runs towards Eli and lifts his arms. Since the first week, when they’d done a makeshift version of their Super Bowl commercial in the endzone, it’s become a staple to their on-field partnership; Odell leaps as Eli opens his arms, and the receiver lands perfectly in them before locking his legs around the quarterback’s waist for a moment as they twirl. Not quite the original routine, but one that they’d both deemed safer.

“Gotcha,” Eli grunts as Odell’s weight lands. Time seems to slow down around them as they spin jubilantly for a moment or two; Eli finally sets him down, but the grin on Odell’s face still feels like a celebration. “Nice catch.”

“Nice throw,” he counters, and they bump foreheads briefly as if they’ve got their helmets on. Someone _aww_ s at them in the distance. “Long as you put that special twist on it…” he thumbs back towards the other end of the field, “they don’t got a chance.”

“That’s the plan,” Eli murmurs.

From a distance, Landon shouts, “ _Get a room_!” Jimmy and Pierre laugh in agreement, and though Eli gets a little bit pink in the face, Odell makes up for it by flipping them off.

“Y’all can fuck right outta here,” he calls back, though it comes out distorted through his laughter. They jog back to the line of scrimmage and line up opposite the San Francisco offense. Landon, as soon as he jogs back up to the line, nudges Odell with his elbow. O shoves him back teasingly.

“I’m _two_ seconds from calling encroachment,” Jimmy warns, and at that Eli chuckles under his breath. Odell and Landon settle back into their roles, and as soon as the 49ers quarterback snaps the ball, everything speeds up again.

The pick-up game only lasts about 45 minutes after that; partially because everyone’s tired from the San Francisco sun, and partially because Richard Sherman hits the ground a little harder than he’d thought near the end, which scares everyone into calling it quits. They shake hands—Eli pretends that they hadn’t ultimately gotten walloped by the 9ers—and part company, the Giants quarterback and receiver making a beeline for the parking lot.

Odell’s Ferrari is glittering in partial sunlight as they cross the blacktop, the small tree above them allowing long, thin strands of it to curl across the hood like ivy. With the sunroof down, the red leather interior looks even sharper than normal, accented in the half-shade they’d parked beneath. Unlocking his phone, O unlocks the car (with an app Eli _still_ doesn’t quite understand) and tosses his things into the backseat. Eli follows suit, letting their bags collide and fall to the floor as Odell just rolls his eyes.

“Good game,” E teases, holding out a hand to shake. “Y’played hard.”

Odell giggles at the faux gruffness in his boyfriend’s voice. “Gee, thanks, coach.” He takes Eli’s outstretched hand and shakes it aggressively, grip tight. Eli laughs.

“Seriously, though—” he uses their clasped hands to pull Odell close to him so that they’re chest-to-chest. “You looked _real_ good running those tweaked routes.” Their noses bump. Odell tries not to blush at the compliments dripping with affection and southern charm. “We can walk through ‘em before the game tomorrow, but I doubt you’re even gonna need ‘em…”

“You’re just sweet-talkin’ me, old man,” O murmurs. “’sides, we’ve been workin’ on these for months. I think I got ’em down pretty good now.” He snuggles himself closer to Eli, face now pressed against his shoulder as he breathes. Laughter vibrates from somewhere deep in Eli’s chest and Odell can feel it as it passes right through him.

“Yeah?” The quarterback asks, tone a little dangerous. “Y’sound real cocky, _Oh_ -dell. Can you back that up?”

“What do _you_ think?” O looks up, propping his head so that his chin is flat against Eli’s chest. He bats his eyes and bites his lip, and when he sees the expression on his boyfriend’s face darken visibly with desire, a prolonged shiver runs up and down his body. (This 80-degree weather is doing him no favors, really.) Eli doesn’t say anything, just moves impossibly closer, and Odell _tsk_ s. “Oooh. That bad, huh?”

“That bad,” Eli echoes, voice gravelly and low. “Jesus, O—” He doesn’t get to finish whatever lust-born thought that he’d started, because Odell winds an arm over his shoulders and pulls him in for a searing, sweaty kiss. It’s brief—but by design, because as soon as Odell pulls back to breathe, Eli chases the kiss, leaning in for more as if running on instinct alone. It’s electrifying, O thinks, to see how easily Eli can be pulled into a moment like this—how _easy_ it is to rile him up, especially after practice of any type. Breathing a little uneven, face reddened by the sun (and by Odell, too), Eli hovers in his space, effortlessly patient but also starting to fray around the edges. It would be so _easy_ to kiss him again, to melt into it and be all-consumed—

But O’s not after easy. Not this afternoon, anyway. He grins at number ten and then takes a big step backwards, moving around the tail-end of the car as gingerly as possible. When he’s standing across from Eli, positioned in front of the driver’s and passenger’s side doors respectively, he winks.

“What’re you doin’, honey?” E asks. But he doesn’t really need to know: he watches as Odell jukes towards the hood of the car and then grins devilishly. They go back and forth for a few moments before Odell just collapses onto the hood, arms splayed wide as his back presses into the warm metal. Eli watches him with a raised brow as he raises his arms, lifting the hem of his shirt in the process.

“’m too tired to keep goin,” he says with a whine. “C’mere?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eli replies, unable to keep the smile out of his voice. He moves back into Odell’s space, slotting his legs between his boyfriend’s. “Tired, but still showin’ off like this?” One hand rests against Odell’s exposed abdomen, and he hums something low and hungry in response—all Eli can do is grin down at him as he lowers himself until he’s hovering just out of reach. “Didn’t think so.”

“You got me,” O concedes. Eli hums in response, dipping a little lower so that their noses bump. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”

Eli doesn’t say anything—instead, he closes the distance between them roughly, rocking the car beneath them as he pushes everything he has into the kiss. He’s moved so that his forearms are bracketing either side of Odell’s head, now, less focused on intimate touches and more on the way Odell’s form has gone from splayed out on the car hood to now practically clinging to him, chest-to-chest, building delicious friction between their bodies to counteract the post-practice fatigue bound to set in any moment.If the little noises of pleasure building in the back of O’s throat are anything to go by, their afternoon in the Santa Clara sun is only going to get hotter.

“ _Baby_ ,” Eli mumbles as he pulls away from Odell’s lips. “’s not fair that you’re this pretty.” He hasn’t _actually_ moved that far away, since their lips brush together with every word, but from the lip-lock they’d been in before, the space between them might as well be a mile. “ _Man_ did you look good out there.”

Odell’s gaze is lidded and heavy as his eyes settle on Eli, searching his face for a moment before settling for his slightly-swollen lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” the quarterback affirms. He leans back in, kisses Odell to capture his bottom lip with his teeth, and then releases him with a soft grunt. Odell squirms beneath him, an unspoken whine for more lingering between them. “Clean routes, real nice cut speed…” The thought sends a twinge of arousal through him just remembering the sheer accuracy of it, and Odell giggles breathlessly. _Ah_. “Got me all worked up just seein’ you like that.”

Odell moans as Eli shifts against him, the semi in his pants rapidly turning into something more. “Coulda fooled me,” he teases. There’s a tremor in his voice, barely-there but noticeable all the same. Eli presses against Odell again, crotch rubbing up against his lower thigh, and another moan echoes between them. “Oh my god, _E_ —”

The rest of his desperate plea is cut off by a sharp beeping noise, coming from a couple hundred yards away. Eli pushes himself up onto his hands and looks towards it—Odell is still riled up underneath him, biting his lip and looking up through his lashes as if to draw Eli’s attention back to where it _should_ be.

“I think someone’s—”

“Oh my _god_ —” The two scramble to get away from each other on the hood of the car as Landon walks in their direction, holding his keys high to try and pop the trunk from a distance. Odell panic-rolls to his right and hits the pavement, landing directly on his ass, and Eli stumbles backwards into the tree planted directly in front of the car. He whips out his phone and pretends to be checking his email while his brain fervently begs the semi he’s sporting to go down.

Landon sees Eli and waves, unaware of what the scene had been only moments before. (Odell’s phone had managed, somehow, to land underneath the car when he’d hit the ground, so he’s unaware that their star safety is on his way towards them.) “’sup, E?” He calls, finally managing to open the trunk of his car. He shrugs off the bag on his shoulders and tosses it in. “Hey, thanks for invitin’ me to this. Haven’t played flag football in a while.”

“Any time, Landon,” Eli answers. He swallows as the safety walks closer to them, offering a hand for him to shake. “You know, I’m pretty sure you just proved you’d be a good running back out there.” They clasp hands as Landon throws back his head in laughter.

“Man, I’mma leave that to Saquads.” He grins. Odell gets to his feet with a grunt, and Landon jumps a little. “ _Shit_ , O. Didn’t see you there.”

Odell smiles sheepishly, holding up his now-even- _more_ -shattered phone. “My bad, man.” He moves back around to the front of the car and fist-bumps Landon. “Eli’s right, though—you could give our backs a run for their money.” He pauses, then giggles. “No pun intended.” Landon laughs again and shakes his head. He claps Eli on the shoulder and then turns back towards his car.

“See y’all tomorrow,” he says. “Come ready to kick some ass.”

“Ain’t we always ready?” O calls after him, and Landon just shakes his head good-naturedly. When their teammate is a safe distance away and in his car, Odell turns to Eli, who’s dragging his hand over his face. “Jeeeesus.”

“Were you _really_ expecting another outcome?” E asks. “Honey, we gotta cool it off at least a _little_. We’re in the damn parking lot, for Pete’s sake.”

Odell nods. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right.” Eli pulls him back into a tender embrace, presses his lips to Odell’s forehead. “Who’s Pete?”

“ _Really_?” Eli chuckles. “Man, O. Really pushin’ _all_ my buttons today.”

Odell shrugs, grinning ear-to-ear. “Hey, we both know I gotta keep you on your toes, yeah?” Eli huffs. “You love me anyway.”

“You’re damn lucky I do.”

 

v.

The holidays roll around fast—and so does December football. The Giants are 8-5 when they reach week 15, which happens to be their only _truly_ festive home game this season. (The Bears game from a few weeks back had been too close to Thanksgiving for any elaborately specific festivities to take place.) Everyone’s excited—though the NFC has been a tough division, as everyone had predicted, they’re still in the playoff hunt, and it feels so radically different from the year before that _everyone_ is thriving on the locker room’s good energy.

And, of course, because Christmas is only a handful of days away, there’s plenty of cheer to spread around. As he always does, Eli arrives at QuestDX early in the morning, to work through the leg stretches that he’s been trying to incorporate into his general workout routine. However, because of the upcoming holiday, the prankster instinct that’d been lying low all season rears its head—he brings in several bunches of mistletoe, tucked away safely in a plastic bag under his post-practice interview clothes, and hangs it around the locker room. If he’s being honest, he thinks that Evan and Davis need to just kiss and make whatever it is they’ve got going on official, so he pointedly ties one up in his backup quarterback’s locker, snickering the entire time.

He makes a few more evil decisions, putting one in rookie Will Hernandez’s cubby and then one right next to Snacks, if only because he’s ready to see someone accidentally fall into his path and get absolutely embarrassed.

The last bundle, of course, goes directly above Odell’s locker area. He smiles cheekily as he does it, and then leaves a little wrapped gift beneath it so that no one in the locker room will holler at them for going outside of the team’s Secret Santa policy. The present is nothing fancy, really—a watch with a Giants-blue face, one of the many he’s become a brand ambassador for, and a sleek silver chain—but with Odell, it’s been about the little things since the beginning. (Besides. The rest of the gift is being saved for later in the evening when they’re home alone.)

Odell arrives about half an hour afterwards, with a handful of other staff members and teammates filing in after him. When he sees Eli from across the locker room, his face breaks into a grin. It takes only a few strides to reach him, and Odell immediately stands on his tiptoes to press a sweet, chaste kiss to Eli’s lips. When he’s standing normally on the ground again, he looks up at his quarterback and smiles softly.

“Where were you this morning?” He asks quietly. Eli hums softly in response. “Missed wakin’ up to the smell of burnt coffee.”

In his own defense, even with knowledge of the prank he’d be pulling later, it had been almost impossible to leave bed that morning. He’d set his alarm half an hour before he normally does and managed to roll out of bed before it’d woken his boyfriend, only to hear the soft whimper that O had made in his sleep as soon as they were no longer touching. From his curled-up position, which had only moments ago been neatly tucked right up against Eli’s chest, he shifts and reaches an arm out to feel the other side of the bed. _‘Where you goin’, E?’_ Odell had mumbled in his sleep, and god. He had needed to take a deep breath and then, gently, once he’d composed himself a little, kiss the side of O’s face, just above his beard line. _‘Just goin’ to the bathroom, baby, I’ll be back_.’ And that had been enough for his boyfriend. But the entire drive to Quest, the only thing on Eli’s mind had been Odell’s parted lips, snoring lightly, just beside him in bed and waiting to be embraced again. And here O is, teasing him about leaving—he blushes a little thinking of just how soft on his wide receiver he is.

“ _Almost_ burnt,” Eli defends with a small smile. “Anyway. I had some…business to take care of.” Resting both hands on Odell’s shoulders, the quarterback turns his receiver around towards the new accessories he’d added to their teammates’ cubbies. The look on Odell’s face transforms from sleepy contentment to pure amusement.

“Oh man.” He leans his head back into Eli’s shoulder. When he sees the decoration on Davis’ locker, he snorts. “You’re gonna get Webby to finally make a move on EE, huh?”

“It’s about damn time,” Eli murmurs into his ear. “And one more…” They turn towards O’s locker. A little giggle shakes Odell’s shoulders as he sees it, and he ducks his head forwards, shaking it in disbelief.

“You ain’t slick, Elisha,” he laughs. “Tryna get some on _Christmas_? Unbelievable.” Eli feels the blood rush to his face. “How do I even put up with you.”

“It’s a miracle,” the quarterback teases. “My gratefulness knows no bounds.”

O huffs out another laugh. “Asshole.”

“Hey, shouldn’t you be getting ready for practice?” Eli playfully taps Odell’s ass in an attempt to push him towards his mistletoe-laden locker. “Don’t wanna be late to being early.”

“You’re ridiculous.” O starts walking towards his locker anyway, though, and Eli follows him close enough that he can stick his hands in the back pockets of his boyfriend’s jeans. “Where you headed?”

“Dunno,” Eli hums, feigning innocence. It doesn’t last long, though—as soon as Odell sets his waist bag (definitely _not_ a fanny pack, despite all the teasing he gets) on his chair, Eli backs him up against the wood frame of his locker and kisses him. It starts off tender, one hand moving to cradle the back of Odell’s head while the other rests lightly on his waist, but it doesn’t take long for it to ramp up. Eli slots his thigh between Odell’s legs and deepens the kiss, teeth scraping his boyfriend’s bottom lip as they grab at each other.

Odell peels himself away from his quarterback for a moment, a little breathless and unable to tear his eyes away from Eli’s mouth. “ _Santa, baby_ ,” he sings under his breath, and Eli chokes on a laugh, ducking his head forwards so that their foreheads are touching.

“Santa? Really? I thought I got myself in pretty good shape this offseason.” He pouts at Odell, a little crease appearing between his brows. Odell continues to hum along with the tune, but he presses his thumb to Eli’s extended bottom lip in a show of soft affection.

“You _did_ ,” he reassures, resting his hand above Eli’s abdomen. “You’re Santa ‘cause you give me everything I ask for.” O can’t finish his sentence without breaking into laughter. He drops his forehead into Eli’s shoulder.

Tenderly, Eli cards his fingers through Odell’s blond locks. “Aren’t you a big softie,” he teases, squeezing O’s hip a little. The wide receiver makes a muffled noise into his shoulder. “And you say _I’m_ getting soft in my old age.”

Odell tilts his head so that his lips aren’t pressed to Eli’s undershirt. “You are, though.” But he gets back on his tiptoes again and presses his lips to Eli’s scruffy cheek. “’s okay, though. Real cute.” When Eli turns his head, Odell kisses him gently on the lips, too. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Out of nowhere, the door to the locker room swings open, and another flood of teammates comes waltzing into the locker room. “This place better be fuckin’ _clear_ of mushy BS when I walk in,” someone shouts. Odell leans to one side of Eli to see who’s talking, only to make direct eye-contact with Davis, who makes a silly scrunched up face at the sight of them. “Cute.”

“You’re just _jealous_ , Webby,” O calls in a sing-songy voice, stepping out from Eli’s arms. The backup quarterback rolls his eyes but smiles, shaking his head. “’sides. We’re saving the rest for tonight.” Odell overexaggerates a wink in his direction, and Davis groans and puts his hands to his face.

“You guys are gross.”

From behind them, Sterling pops out of nowhere and whacks Davis in the arm. “You’re just figuring that out? Bruh.” He grins when he sees Odell, though, and they perform their overly-elaborate handshake before hugging each other. “They been gross for _ever_ , man. You thought they were bad from what you saw last season? Y’shoulda seen them back in 2016. Fuckin’ ridiculous.” Eli’s cheeks redden at the reminder, and Davis grimaces.

“You’re being overdramatic,” Eli says. The grin on his face is a little shameless, but he thinks he’s earned the right to be, considering how good they’ve been about locker room etiquette all season. Sterling shrugs at his response, and their little crowd disperses. Christmas music—or whatever Drake semblances of the holiday there are—echo through the room, and the moment of chaotic energy fades into the background.

For about three minutes, anyway, until Davis notices the mistletoe hanging from the hook in his locker. “Are you _kidding_ me, Eli?” Eli busts out laughing, doubled over on the chair in front of his locker as his backup stares disbelievingly. And, as if Davis Webb needed the morning to be more ridiculous, the next person in the locker room is Evan Engram, who’s scratching his head dazedly as he strolls over to his locker.

Eli notices Davis notice him and winks. “Merry Christmas,” he says quietly. Webb grumbles and knocks a fist into Eli’s shoulder, but his face is pink and there’s a smile playing on his lips already. Evan starts walking over to the wall of quarterback lockers—Eli and Odell smirk at each other knowingly from across the room.

“’sup, Webby?” Evan asks, fist-bumping Eli and then clapping a firm hand on Davis’ shoulder. It’s clear from even that little moment of contact that there’s something between them the same way there’d been something between ten and thirteen way back in 2015. Right now, ten’s gaze is averted, but he’s fully aware of what’s about to go down—after all, he’s pretty sure he’s lived it before.

“Not much, Easy,” Davis replies, and _god_ does it sound familiar. Eli almost aches with it. He can hear their palms clap together as they shake hands and grins.

As if on cue, Odell coughs from his seat. “Hey, Davis, are y’all standing under _mistletoe_?” At this point, most of the starting roster has gathered in the locker room and are almost halfway changed into their practice uniforms. So of course, when Odell speaks the existence of _mistletoe_ into a room filled with people who know exactly how long their two second-year players have been dancing around each other, the resounding response to their situation is a drawn-out “ _OOOOOOOOOOOOH_ ” that makes Davis so red in the face that, for a moment, Eli’s actually concerned for his well-being.

The concern passes after a moment, though. Eli joins in shamelessly after a few moments, and he can practically feel the lasers being bored into his skin from Davis’ glare, but he doesn’t really care because the look on Evan’s face as he realizes what’s about to happen is absolutely priceless.

“Let’s just shut ‘em up,” he says low enough for Davis (and Eli) to hear. All eyes are on them as the tight end moves close to the backup and slowly, _slowly_ leans in. Davis closes the distance between them, eyes closed, and the room erupts into cheers of joy and whistling. Eli doesn’t look on for too much longer, but what really stands out to him is the way Davis had just melted as soon as their lips made contact. A sweet moment—one that he’d probably wanted for far longer than he’d like to admit. From across the room, Eli makes eye contact with Odell, who’s face is lit up in a bright, shit-eating grin. His wide receiver wags his eyebrows and motions between the two of them with a wink. Eli nods.

The dynasty of quarterbacks being head over heels in love with their key offensive weapons continues, he thinks with a smile.

 

 

\+ i.

 _Miracle_.

It’s the only word that can truly describe the events of Super Bowl LIII. Or, more aptly, the only word that feels worthy enough of the crusade that the New York Football Giants had been on over the past eight years. Because tonight, on February 3rd, 2019, they win it all again.

Against the New England Patriots, again.

The actual game had flown by, an offense performing at peak efficiency and its defense working in compliment, and with a final score of 30-14, ends with Eli Manning hoisting the Lombardi trophy to a sea of confetti and blue jerseys. He garners his third MVP award. But most importantly—he keeps the promise he’d made to his boyfriend three years ago in a run-down little motel at the edges of East Rutherford.

{“I know I’m getting old in football years, but I’m gonna take you—all of you—to one more championship before I go. I owe you that much, if not more.”}

If Odell’s being honest with himself, he hasn’t been able to stop crying since the clock expired. Running into Eli’s arms had been the first thing to do, and as he buried his face into the crook of Eli’s neck and sobbed tears of joy, he’d thought that, well, _this was it_. Nothing in his life would ever top this first victory of his. It’s been five years in the making, but god, it’d been worth every moment. He’d been convinced that nothing could ever possibly be better than this.

And then, once the crowds and the players and the staff have all evacuated the stadium, it does. Because in the middle of Mercedes-Benz Field, under a handful of lights scattering around the empty stadium, Eli Manning kisses him so fiercely and passionately that he thinks he could vibrate into dust and float away. It isn’t a deep kiss by any means, but it’s one filled to the brim with feeling. When they part for air, Eli’s eyes are shining with unshed tears.

“We did it, baby.” His voice is gravelly from shouting and crying, and his cheeks are ruddy from adrenaline, but he takes Odell’s face in his hands and just…smiles. He smiles, and Odell breaks into a fresh round of tears. His face is soaked in sweat, still, and the smile splitting his face feels almost _exhausting_ it’s been sitting there so long, but the tears just do not stop.

“I love you.” Odell all but leaps into his arms and buries his face in Eli’s shoulder, breathing heavily and shaking with sobs. “I love you so much, oh my god, Eli, we _did it_.” His mind feels like it’s going a thousand miles an hour with every sensation hitting him right now but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care, he _can’t_ care, because he’s pressed so close to Eli he can hear the quarterback’s heart hammering in his chest and it’s so grounding, so stilling that everything else filters out. Everything. Alone on a field still littered with red white and blue confetti, the only thing in the world right now, to Odell, is the two of them.

Eli presses a kiss to the side of Odell’s head and then rests his forehead against O’s. His voice practically trembles at the edges when he manages to say something else. “I love you more than anything.”

Odell releases Eli from the stranglehold-embrace and then pulls him down for a kiss so aggressively that they lose their footing and tumble to the ground, Odell’s back hitting the turf _hard_ as Eli lands on his side right next to him. But they don’t even feel it—Eli just pushes himself onto his hands and knees and crawls onto Odell, dipping down to re-initiate the interrupted kiss like they’d parted for air instead of crashed to the ground. O’s hands grab for purchase at the hems of his quarterback’s dress shirt, desperate to free him of his clothing and to be that much closer to him; in a show of borderline-unnecessary strength, he tears the buttons right off of the lavender fabric and tosses the shirt somewhere behind them—Eli’s not wearing an undershirt beneath it, and Odell rests his palm flat against Eli’s chest.

“Baby,” he murmurs in the moments where Eli’s lips aren’t on his. “Baby, _please_.” Eli grinds against Odell’s thigh and the receiver chokes on a moan, chasing his quarterback’s lips once more as their hips move in tandem.

The rest of their clothes come off in a similar fashion—Eli’s hands are strong and calloused as they easily peel away Odell’s flashy layers, and Odell’s trembling fingers are able to unbutton the front of Eli’s dress pants in a single breathless move before shoving them down his thighs. They’re bare against the turf in no time, O’s fingers digging into Eli’s back at the sensation of his body brushing intimately with the rough surface that only hours ago they’d been making plays on.

“You ready?” Eli’s words come out in a half-gasp as Odell arches beneath him for a moment, completely exposed to him on what still will be hallowed ground for hours to come. His eyes have fluttered closed, but when he opens them, their gazes lock, and Odell nods once, biting his lip in anticipation for what’s to come.

Eli spits on his fingers and then cautiously helps Odell as he lifts his legs. He slips one finger in slowly while the other hand traces light patterns on the underside of Odell’s left thigh. The sensation is intoxicating—O whines as his quarterback crooks the digit inside him several times before inserting a second one in.

“God, honey,” Eli pants, and Odell chokes on the desperate moan crawling out of his mouth. “Baby, who let you be so _pretty_ —” Odell cuts him off with another whine as Eli spreads his fingers, opening his receiver up slowly, carefully, tender the way he deserves. He’s trying to take his time but there’s a building feeling in his abdomen, the need to get off mingling with the exhaustion of the game they’d just played, and so he slips a third finger in as he asks, “You want more?”

The answer comes in the form of another half-sob, half-moan. O all but arches off the turf, and he loops his arms around Eli’s shoulders to pull him down for a sloppy kiss before whining again at the feeling of his quarterback inside him. Another affirmative noise from the back of his throat urges him on, and Eli feels like he’s going to faint from how aroused he is. His cock is throbbing and pressed to the inside of Odell’s thigh, a little slick with precome as his hips move with a mind of their own.

“ _Now_ , E, _please_.” Odell’s voice breaks at the plea, and something _powerful_ rears its head in Eli’s chest. He removes his fingers from inside his receiver and spits on his palm before slathering his own cock—he _really_ has to learn to have spare lube on him all the time, if he’s going to do things like this with Odell in the future. O watches him with wide, hungry eyes, drool bubbling at the corner of his mouth as he stares at what’s about to happen. Tenderly, Eli presses his other hand on Odell’s hip, the touch almost feather-light. It’s a silent reassurance; Odell’s trembling stops cold for a handful of seconds as Eli’s palm flattens and caresses the sensitive skin of his waist. As if to say, _I got you_. _I won’t let you down_. (And he hadn’t—god, he hadn’t, not on the biggest stage of their lives. The thought draws the lingering emotions back out from before.)

With a shaking breath, Eli pushes into him and moans gutturally, listening to the way Odell’s whining has heightened in pitch with every little moment forward. If he’d been hard before, he’s suddenly _blind_ with it now, and Odell is tight around him in a way that has him dizzy with desire. “So good for me, baby,” he growls, and Odell sobs again as the hand gripping Eli’s hip tightens. “ _God_ , you’re so good, you’re so _beautiful_.” With a steadying breath, he waits on Odell’s go-ahead and simply stares down at him—at the man who put everything into tonight, the man who brought his A-game from beginning to end and showed just how much he loved this sport, this team—and Eli, too. O’s lips are parted and swollen from kisses, and his tear-stained cheeks glisten in the stadium’s dim lighting.

“Daddy, _please_ —” Odell takes a shaky breath in and squirms, drawing a breathy moan from both of them as Eli’s cock moves inside him. His voice gets suddenly soft, like it had moments before. “I’m ready for you.” And just like that, Eli snaps his hips back and pushes right back into Odell, the emotions of the evening overwhelming him to the point of no control. O lets out a wail of pleasure.

Eli takes one of Odell’s hands and laces their fingers together before pinning it above their heads. He dips down and kisses his boyfriend, all tongue and teeth and emotion as he rocks forward again and again and again. “You feel so good, sweetheart,” he moans. O whimpers underneath him at the words, and when he pushes into him again, Eli feels O’s cock brushing against his abdomen, painting little streaks of pre-come on the MVP’s skin. The sensation sends a shiver up his spine and he recaptures Odell’s lips in another searing kiss.

“I love you, daddy,” Odell manages when they part for air. He’s crying again, chest heaving with emotion and exhaustion as he drags Eli back to his lips. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” The kisses aren’t even kisses anymore, really; their foreheads are pressed together and they’re _trying_ to kiss, but the two of them are shaking from their unbelievably long day and desperate to come, and so Eli’s lips mouth at the curve of Odell’s cheek but don’t quite reach his lips for a while. Odell can live—he’s too busy babbling every time Eli pounds into him for anything else to be the case.

“I love you,” Eli echoes right up against his skin. “I love you honey, I do.” He can’t believe how much he loves Odell, if he really thinks about it, but this moment between them now isn’t about thinking. In fact, it’s about the opposite.

“Touch—touch me, please, E,” Odell whimpers, rolling his hips upwards so that his cock fully flattens against Eli’s midriff for what feels like a long second. “I gotta—fuck, _daddy_ , I need you everywhere.” Tears spill down his cheeks and Eli can’t breathe, looking at him. At how beautiful he is.

He releases a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. “I got you,” He murmurs after a delayed moment. Eli releases Odell’s hand from his own and, after petting the hair back from thirteen’s forehead, palms the receiver’s straining erection. Almost immediately upon contact, Odell sobs—one of his hands reaches out and grabs a fistful of confetti that had been lingering around, if only as something to grab hold of as Eli’s steady rhythmic rocking aligns with the way he’s stroking O’s cock. Eli breathlessly watches as Odell practically shakes to pieces beneath him. The receiver is rocking into his hand, now, desperately trying to get friction in any way he can, and his lidded gaze is so heavy on him that, were he not completely in another state of mind right now, would’ve made him come immediately.

O is close, though; that much is obvious. He’s so close to release that Eli can practically _see_ it coiled in his muscles, can feel it in the way his cock is weeping precome and making his strokes less steady, more unpredictable. His breathing is coming fast.

“I’m—I’m so close, daddy, I’m gonna—”

“Go ahead, baby. Come for me.” Eli pushes into him particularly forcefully, hitting the spot that he knows Odell loves. “You deserve it, baby. I’m so proud of you. Of everything you’ve done.” And just like that, Odell lets go. He cries out once more, babbling Eli’s name as he spurts ropes of come all over his own chest and abdomen. Eyelids fluttering, voice breaking with every unintelligible sob, it’s such a sight as he throws his head back into a scattering of confetti that it overwhelms Eli completely. Odell isn’t even finished climaxing when Eli comes in him, wracked with sobs as he presses close to his baby.

His mind whites out as he lies there clinging to Odell, the two of them absolutely consumed with joy and exhaustion and utter love as the silence of the empty stadium around them envelops them.

Whatever happens next, after all of this, there’s only one thing Eli knows for certain: that walking into their next season will be almost too easy, now that history has gotten his right hand man bound to him forever.

**Author's Note:**

> and with that, ying yang!verse is, for now, complete. LIII is the biggest stage on earth for them, and they've finally achieved the promise that eli made to odell all the way back in reckless behavior. thank you for going on this journey with me. thank you for loving these dumb football boys like i have. the comments and the kudos have been everything to me, and i love that their love has a wider audience, even if it's only a couple people. feel free to reach out to me about them whenever you like.
> 
> (of course, i'm going to _keep_ writing e/o, because i won't ever be able to stop, but that won't go on here. that content will exist, as it always has, outside of ao3. check out [the library](http://eoverse.tumblr.com).)


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